


Acércate y ámame

by anisstaranise, define_serenity



Series: Seblaine Spring Fling [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Spring, Spring Break, Spring Fling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3772021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise, https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can be crazy, when the occasion calls for it. Just because it doesn’t involve stripping on a beach in Cabo doesn’t mean he can’t let loose.</p><p>And he stands by that, because who can regret the view of Sebastian stripping out of shorts, his boxers, his bare ass on full display for anyone watching. He might not get crazy like other people, but he’s not regretting that right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acércate y ámame

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Seblaine Spring Fling](http://seblaineaffairs.tumblr.com/post/115576249375/spring-fling-themes), day two: **spring break**.
> 
> Prompt and idea by my _avocado at law_ **anisstaranise**.
> 
> Title means _come closer and love me_.

**i.**

The ocean waves carry a near imperceptible breeze onto shore, hardly enough to assuage the assault of heat still persistent in the air -- the sand was still warm from the sun, the air stifling against sun-kissed skin, the sea wide open and inviting. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, his body warm inside the light shirt and matching shorts.

“Una cabeza, por favor.”

He looks sideways to see Sebastian, one of the guys Hunter invited, slide into the stool next to him, and he can’t help giggling; he’s heard his fair share of terrible Spanish since they arrived here yesterday afternoon, but this takes the cake. The bartender utters something he can’t even understand, probably equally mortified, and moves away.

“I’m just trying to order a beer, killer,” Sebastian says, “Cut me some slack.”

“Beer is _cerveza_. You just ordered a head.”

Sebastian feigns a wince and smiles. “At least I don’t call myself an _avocado_ at law.”

Another bead of sweat runs down his spine, but he barely notices staring at Sebastian, who just became infinitely more interesting. They hadn’t talked since their group got on the bus together, and he was a virtual stranger to most of them, but he was an extra person pitching in for the trip, so no one had complained. He must be a senior like Hunter, maybe a law student judging by his choice in jokes, but he knows those guys don’t have a whole lot of time to waste on spring break.

The bartender comes back with a beer, and deposits it in front of Sebastian with the sort of hopeless shrug, a direct result of having served too many American rich kids.

“I guess they’re used to tourists butchering their native tongue,” Sebastian says.

They both turn in their seats simultaneously, hoping to catch whatever whiff of air the sea brings with it. Their group of eight has scattered across the beach; Hunter and Thad are entertaining the Mexican beauties who had invited them to the beach in the first place, while David and Wes were playing frisbee in the near darkness, Nick and Jeff sitting in the sand attached at the mouth -- most of them knew that’s how Nick and Jeff would be spending most of their spring break. He wonders why they even bothered tagging along.

Sebastian shakes his head. “Can you believe those two?”

“I share a room with Nick,” he says. “I don’t need to.”

“You’re Blaine, right?”

He nods.

“Sebastian.”

“Hunter’s friend.”

Sebastian smiles. “My reputation precedes me.”

It’s a nice smile, he catches himself thinking, an open and honest one, though if he’s friends with Hunter he’s bound to have some more devilish characteristics. Which aren’t necessarily a bad thing -- Hunter can be charming as hell for a straight guy, and while he might give the appearance of being a bit of a bad boy, Hunter would never go out of his way to break any rules. He can see that in Sebastian too.

“Sebastian! Bro!” Hunter yells from the beach. “We’re going skinny-dipping!”

Sebastian snorts.

“When in Rome, Smythe!” Hunter adds and starts peeling off his clothes, running after the caramel-skinned ladies stripping too as they run towards the water.

Sebastian finishes his beer with a few big gulps and gets up. “You’re not coming, killer?”

“No.” He laughs. “You are?”

“Living _la vida loca_ , baby,” Sebastian says unironically, and strips out of his shirt right in front of him. His lips part as his eyes draw down Sebastian’s long naked torso, peppered with freckles in odd places, his stomach flat and trained and -- sort of difficult not to touch. “You should try it some time.”

His eyes shoot up. What is that supposed to mean?

But all the response he gets is a smirk from Sebastian before he disappears down the beach; he trails behind at a slower pace, and sits down in the sand a few feet away from Nick and Jeff. He can be crazy, when the occasion calls for it. Just because it doesn’t involve stripping on a beach in Cabo doesn’t mean he can’t let loose.

And he stands by that, because who can regret the view of Sebastian stripping out of shorts, his boxers, his bare ass on full display for anyone watching. He might not get crazy like other people, but he’s not regretting that right now.

 

**ii.**

“Spring break is a time honored tradition of fun and adventure–” Sebastian argues, his eyebrows as expressive as the rest of his face, and he can’t help but smile.

It’s the third night of their trip, and the Mexican girls who have enamored Hunter showed them places tourists wouldn’t normally find; an hour ago they stumbled into a small but lively club tucked in an old building, its history tracing between the cracks in the bricks, the occasional broken tile and paint chipped on every chair. There’s low lighting, a dark oak bar, and an enticing dance floor, but given he hardly knows anyone here, he doubts he’ll be doing much dancing.

Instead Sebastian found his way to the stool by his side again, and he’s been happily hearing him talk about school, his friendship with Hunter, and why he needed to get away from it all. Turns out Sebastian studied architecture and stood to graduate soon, but after classes, an internship that nearly took his soul and a bad breakup, he’s looking to have some fun.

Though he’s not sure he agrees with everything Sebastian’s saying.

“It’s about getting away from everything. School, family, exes–”

He has an elbow on the bar, his fist resting against his temple, body turned towards Sebastian, and he thinks he could listen to Sebastian talk all day -- a lot of that probably has to do with the bit of alcohol coursing through his veins, the same liquid animating Sebastian’s tongue. Not that he dislikes the guy, Sebastian turned out to be far more interesting than his other friends whom he already knows too well; this might be exactly what he hoped his spring break would be. Good conversation, no school, zero obligations. The fact that Sebastian is easy on the eyes is a bonus he graciously accepts.

“It’s about doing something stupid, and something you’ll regret.”

“Why do I get the feeling you speak from experience?”

Sebastian eyes him suspiciously. “You don’t agree.”

“Getting away from everything, sure.” He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean you can’t still be responsible.”

Sebastian leans in a little. “That why they invited you?”

“Hey.” He slaps at Sebastian’s shoulder, though the accusation comes at him harder than he thought it would; he’s often the voice of reason in his group of friends, the guy who stays sober to get everyone home safe, who makes sure they’re all home at a reasonable hour if there’s work to be done the morning after, or calls their girlfriends and tells them not to worry when he’s forced to put Wes or David up for the night. Does that make him a buzzkill?

“Get out of your comfort zone, killer,” Sebastian says, leaning closer still. “Get drunk. Kiss a girl. Kiss the wrong boy.” Sebastian stands up, and stretches out his hand. “Dance with a stranger.”

He blinks down at Sebastian’s hand, the request wholly unexpected. “You’re not exactly a stranger.”

Sebastian wriggles his fingers. “I’m not hearing a no.”

He catches Sebastian’s eyes, beautifully green in this lighting, and wonders what’s stopping him. The dance floor’s too inviting to ignore and Sebastian’s less of a stranger than anyone else here. It’s just a dance with a decent guy, one who’s too noticeably trying to coax him out of his shell, but still. Where’s the harm?

“ _La vida loca_ , right?”

Sebastian beams, a smile that travels straight to his knees, and before he can question whether or not he’ll even be able to dance Sebastian has grabbed his hand and pulls him towards the dance floor. His heart stutters in his chest at the first sway of Sebastian’s hips, salsa music playing in the background. It takes him a few moments to find his rhythm, stop minding the bodies around him and just focus on Sebastian’s, but with the way his eyes never leave him it’s not hard; Sebastian only has eyes for him.

His hand draws down Sebastian’s torso, one arm draped around his neck, and he sways their hips together.

The room fades around them, heat fires another assault but it’s different this time, it starts from within, a warmth in his belly that spreads outwards and sets his nerve endings on fire, he starts breathing through his mouth and he swears he can taste Sebastian. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt, there’s electricity playing between their bodies -- Sebastian lowers his forehead to his and he closes his eyes for the briefest moment to memorize the coding of his heartbeat, the heady scent of sweat, the taste of cologne, the sensual sway of the music, and, as he opens his eyes again, Sebastian, only Sebastian.

And then, without thinking, he kisses the boy. A stupid decision, a choice he’ll regret, he doesn’t care anymore, spring break is about fun and adventure and flipping the switch on his brain.

Sebastian kisses him back, his mouth a nudge at his to part his lips, a hot tongue a line to his bottom lip, Sebastian’s fingers digging into his hips. He moans and rises on his toes, folding his arms around Sebastian’s neck and --

Someone collides with Sebastian’s back, breaking the kiss, reality re-erecting around them. His entire body pulses while Sebastian shouts abuse at a random person who probably doesn’t even understand him, and he becomes acutely aware of where he is, how he just behaved in public, and how positively raunchy it all must have seemed.

Hunter comes to Sebastian’s aid when the fight gets a little heated, and soon the entire group is primed to help Sebastian out. Their dance has been forgotten, a kiss lingers on his lips, the right guy, the wrong guy, _who the hell knows_?

 

**iii.**

By night four he’s successfully managed to ignore Sebastian for a full day, spending time with Wes and David, while Hunter, Sebastian and Thad roamed the city together -- Nick and Jeff were probably holed up in their hotel room. After getting kicked out of the bar last night he kept his distance, unsure whether or not Sebastian wanted to talk about the kiss, if it was anything to talk about at all, or if he should keep it to himself. He doesn’t want to make it into anything it wasn’t, just ten minutes before asking him to dance Sebastian had been urging him to have fun, make mistakes. Besides, he doesn’t know Sebastian well enough to be thinking in these terms anyway.

Now their group has congregated in the hotel lobby, where there’s a small empty bar waiting for them, and they’ve somehow gotten it in their heads to play a game of Quarters; everyone but Nick and Jeff, that is.

“Is it safe to sit here?” Sebastian plunks down at his side, a playful smile playing around his mouth. “Or do we need a buffer?”

He chuckles, more than willing to admit that Sebastian’s devilish charm is a trait in his personality he’s completely smitten with. “I’m so embarrassed about the way I acted last night.”

“Don’t be.” Sebastian bumps shoulders with him. “You had fun, right?”

“Yeah, but–”

He’s not the kind of guy who goes into something blindly. He likes the first shy touch between two people who like each other, the initial conversation that uncovers mutual interests, movie dates, and dinner dates and the first tentative kiss. He never rushes, always thinks first. Which might have been Sebastian’s whole point last night: maybe it’s okay not to think sometimes.

“Look, no strings attached, okay?” Sebastian says, the scent of his cologne still pressed to his lips. “If that’s what you want. We had a great time, shared a great kiss. It doesn’t have to be more than that.”

What does he want? Sebastian sounds so mature about all this, and here he’s the scared little boy afraid to step out of his comfort zone. Is this why people say things like: _what happens in Cabo, stays in Cabo_? He’s never fully understood that until now. Acting impulsively and having something no-strings-attached with Sebastian seems almost too good to be possible, yet their brief rump on the dance floor seems to suggest otherwise. Should he let go of his responsibility to have a fun fling with Sebastian?

The drinking game decides for him.

Hunter has lined up a few dozen shots around the table, three of which he downs within the first ten minutes -- it becomes increasingly difficult to see the glass after that, so he’s the first to tap out and watch the others play. Turns out Hunter, Wes and David are really good at Quarters, drinking Sebastian under the table too, and he taps out soon after.

“You guys are cheating,” Sebastian comments, offering him another shot, just for kicks.

Whether or not the others are cheating ceases to matter when Sebastian settles back on the couch next to him, and he becomes wholly preoccupied by the bands of freckles on his neck, around his eyebrows, even on his arms.

“Am I your something stupid?” he asks, drawing closer to the warm body next to him.

Sebastian turns his head, resting back against the couch, and smiles softly, as if the answer to that is crystal clear. “I don’t think anyone would ever consider you their something stupid, killer.” He winks. “It’s all fun and games until you meet a decent guy.”

He giggles. “I’m a decent guy?”

“Yeah.” Sebastian smiles. “You know, the kind you take out and don’t kiss until the third date.”

He crunches his nose. Sebastian kissed him last night, what’s he on about?

“You’re the one who kissed me, remember?”

Guilty as charged, he thinks, his head hazy with alcohol. Who could blame him? Sebastian’s the kind of guy who knows he’s hot and he absolutely uses that to his advantage.

“Does that mean we have to wait until you take me out before we can do it again?”

Sebastian licks his lips and he swears he hears him mutter, “When in Rome,” before the taller leans in and captures his lips. He draws in a breath and melts forwards; they exchange small kisses, nipping at each other’s lips like they’re afraid to take more -- but he’s not afraid, he’s too drunk to care and in too deep to be smart about it. Curling a hand in Sebastian’s hair he pulls a little, signaling his permission, his want, _his need_ for Sebastian’s body, and before he knows it he has his hands and his tongue, practically half draped over his lap.

They could be at it for hours, he’s not sure, he loses track in the mess Sebastian’s hands spin him into, but at some point he finds they’re alone, their friends gone, just the two of them curled together on the couch, making out, and he takes it one step further. He slides a hand down over Sebastian’s crotch.

Sebastian pulls back immediately. “Blaine, you’re drunk.”

“So are you,” he whispers, lips tracing down Sebastian’s jawline, coaxing a strained sound from his throat.

“Not that drunk,” Sebastian says, and pulls back further, well out of his lips’ reach. Isn’t this what Sebastian wanted? Isn’t this what he decided he wanted? Sure, he probably drank a little bit too much, but alcohol’s good for lowering his inhibitions -- nothing ever seemed stupid or wrong when he was drunk.

“You don’t want me.”

“I do.” Sebastian draws a thumb over his cheek, and he tilts his head to chase after the touch, the room spinning. “But not like this.”

He takes a deep breath, Sebastian’s eyes glistening and equally drunk as his. “You’re kind of a gentleman, Sebastian Smythe,” he grins sloppily, eyes drooping. Maybe sleep wouldn’t be a bad idea right about now, the warmth of his bed, lips at his neck, hands down his back.

“And you are a terrible drunk.” Sebastian laughs, the brief hint of a giggle betraying how much of a schoolboy Sebastian can still be. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

They stumble upstairs, giggly and uncoordinated, and somewhere along the way Sebastian must’ve decided finding his room was asking too much of him; they trip inside his room and fall down on his bed, laughing like the drunk fools they are.

“Got me in bed after all, killer.”

He giggles again, curling in on himself, ready to sleep off his buzz.

Sebastian draws a hand down his back, kisses the back of his neck, and curls his body around him.

They fall asleep together, the rise and fall of Sebastian’s chest against his back lulling him to sleep.

 

**iv.**

Sebastian kisses him right inside the door. They’re sober and they’re standing still for what seems like the first time today, and when he reaches down to undo Sebastian’s belt, no protest follows. He gets pushed back against the wall, his lips swelling, a heartbeat of their own once Sebastian’s track down his jaw, his neck, his hands skillfully undoing his shirt.

After waking up in each other’s arms this morning it’s been a rollercoaster ride of a day, untangling limbs, nursing their hangovers, traipsing down to a local music festival not far from the hotel. At times they sat in silence, their arms and legs touching, at times they share conversation, likes, dislikes, passions, no topic untouched. Nick and Jeff were out there somewhere too, the rest of the group seeking more adventurous horizons, or maybe simply staying out of their way.

They had dinner together and walked along the beach, knowing deep down exactly where this night was going. He remembered most of what happened last night, the heat in Sebastian’s kisses, the politely declined urge for more, all the compliments in between. Sebastian liked him as something more than a fling, more than a one night stand, more than a boy to have fun with and forget afterwards.

Sebastian lies him down on the bed, their lips locked, settling heavy between his legs. He peels Sebastian’s shirt off, the heat of their bodies combining into a raging fever, Sebastian’s hard-on pressed into his thigh. He trades lazy kisses for the slow grind of Sebastian’s hips, his spine itching, his heartbeat in sync with Sebastian’s, gently losing all sense of reality.

Until Sebastian pulls back.

“What?” He finds Sebastian’s eyes, the sudden pause making him squirm. “What’s wrong?”

The silence that sets is vaguely reminiscent of his own previous doubts, laced with an insecurity he recognizes as his own. “Am I your something stupid?” Sebastian asks.

“No, Sebastian.” He draws a hand through Sebastian’s hair, pushing it from his face. He’ll stop this if it’s what Sebastian needs, even if they’ve been stuck in this forward motion that keeps stalling, a motion that’s been driving him out of his mind. “This is crazy and it’s fun, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Sebastian smiles down at him. “I just needed to hear you say it.”

Their scenic beach walk lasted for a good hour and a half, and it took the walk back to the hotel for him to fully appreciate everything that had happened between him and Sebastian up until then -- it may not have been romance the way he always envisioned it, but it was something like it, and he didn’t want anything else to stop them anymore. So he’d told Sebastian he’d take a shower, and to meet him upstairs in half an hour.

“Are you sure?” Sebastian had asked, as if there weren’t two people in that equation.

“Do you have–” He’d pulled closer. “–protection?”

“Can I answer that question without getting in trouble?”

Taking that to mean yes, he’d planted a small kiss on Sebastian’s lips, and headed upstairs, washing off a full day’s sunscreen and sweat.

Sebastian eases inside him with short, shallow thrusts, kisses to his throat and a hand steady around his hip, carefully opening him up. He hasn’t done this in quite a while, it takes time to build towards intimacy, though maybe not as much as he always believed. Because this is as close to a person as he’s ever felt, a kiss whenever his breath doesn’t catch in his throat, their rhythm lazy like the ocean waves, Sebastian’s thrusts deep but slow.

They don’t talk, they just kiss, and breathe as one.

The silence is only broken when Sebastian’s hips lose their rhythm, and he breathes, “Yes. Yes,” over and over, digging fingers into Sebastian’s back, jerking himself off fast so that when Sebastian comes with a grunt, stilling inside him after a few more thrusts, he orgasms soon after, spilling semen all over his chest.

Sebastian steals a few lazy kisses before collapsing next to him, the heat an assault to their oversensitive bodies, sweat sunk into the sheets beneath them, the breeze from the open windows not enough to break their fever.

“Do you always pack condoms for spring break?” he asks, his curiosity getting the best of him -- Sebastian thought he’d get in trouble if he admitted to it, but it’s a little late for denials.

Sebastian chuckles. “Never know when you might meet a decent guy, killer.”

Well played, he thinks, as Sebastian kisses behind his ear, down his neck, settling underneath his skin like a raging infection.

 

 

**\- fin -**

 


End file.
